


Sic 'em, Boy

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [9]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Major Character Injury, Run, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: Prompt No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD“Take Me Instead” |“Run!”| Ritual SacrificeOf all the godforsaken places for their latest killer to be hiding out, Malcolm thinks to himself as he peeks around the corner, it just had to be a junkyard.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel
Series: October? No, I think you mean Whumptober [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947595
Comments: 16
Kudos: 59
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Sic 'em, Boy

Of all the godforsaken places for their latest killer to be hiding out, Malcolm thinks to himself as he peeks around the corner, it just had to be a junkyard.

Ever since his encounter with John Watkins — the Junkyard Killer himself — Malcolm's found himself experiencing a bit of an aversion to any type of salvage yard. He doesn't really think it's unreasonable, all things considered.

And of course, they're chasing after this guy — a sniper responsible for four deaths and a devastating case of mass panic that's swept through the city over the course of the last week — just before midnight, on a night with almost no moon visible to illuminate the yard. 

They split up, Dani and Gil taking the east side of the compound while JT and Malcolm take the west, covering as much ground as they can before the killer realizes they're searching for him. They're all painfully aware that, if their killer is alerted to their presence while they're in the labyrinth of twisted rows and aisles that line the massive yard, he's likely to perch himself above them, waiting to fire, to pick them off one at a time.

And so Malcolm is hyper-vigilant, forcing his gaze up as often as he can manage without stumbling over the various bits of scattered metal on the ground.

It's almost funny, therefore, when the threat doesn't come from above. Doesn't come from the barrel of a rifle.

Just as Malcolm and JT turn a corner at the far side of the yard, a rumbling voice breaks the silence of the night, startling them both before they even have a chance to consider the meaning of the words.

"Sic 'em, boy!"

It's the low growl that answers the command, not the words themselves, that spurs them into action. They glance at one another for half a second, just long enough that Malcolm would be willing to bet the fear he sees in JT's eyes is mirrored in his own.

"Run!" JT shouts and they turn as one, running back down the aisle they just walked up, chased by the sound of a heart-stopping snarling that awakens something deep inside of them, some primal part of their brains that identifies the sound as _dangerdangerdanger_.

The scraping patter of the dog's feet hitting the packed-dirt ground follows far too close for comfort, growing closer and closer with every step he takes, and he knows there's no way they're going to make it all the way to the entrance.

"Up!" Malcolm shouts around his panting breaths, heart beating so much faster than the short run should account for.

JT seems to understand his meaning though, throwing himself at the nearest pile of compacted cars and scrambling to climb up the heap of twisted metal, hands and feet searching for purchase on any ledge he can find.

Malcolm follows suit, but the dog is too close, too fast, and before Malcolm can get more than six feet off the ground, the dog is jumping up from below, sharp teeth sinking through the meaty flesh of his calf and refusing to let go.

A howl rips from deep inside of him, tearing through his lungs and out his throat as he struggles to keep his hold on the car door he's clinging to with every ounce of strength he has. The pain is white hot, screaming through his nerves with every grind of the rottweiler's jaw as it gnaws through his skin and muscle while Malcolm tries his best to shake it off.

"Bright!" JT shouts, his voice sounding more panicked than Malcolm's ever heard before. "Hold on!"

Malcolm doesn't really have much of a choice.

The resounding bang of the gunshot scares the hell out of him, and he nearly loses his grip, barely managing to wrap his arm around the frame of the door. Fortunately, it seems to frighten the dog, too, and it releases its grip on Malcolm's leg, dropping to the ground with a whimper.

He doesn't even hesitate. He bites down on his lip as he continues to climb up the stack of cars, trying his damndest to ignore what feels like scalding pokers jabbing into his calf every time he puts weight on that leg. It takes longer than he'd like, but he makes it to the top of the stack, throwing himself on the crushed roof of the car that crowns the tower he's claimed as his own.

"Bright, man, you good?" JT asks from his perch on the other side of the aisle they'd been fleeing down.

Malcolm takes a moment to catch his breath and blink back the tears that are streaming down his face before he answers. "Did you just shoot a dog?"

"What? No!" JT sounds more insulted than that time Malcolm asked if he was a necrophiliac, and Malcolm would chuckle at the tone if it didn't feel like half of his leg had just been ripped off. "I shot the car _next to_ the dog. To scare it off."

"Okay, good," Malcolm mutters, dropping his face Into the crease of his elbow as he wills the pain to go away. It's not the dog's fault that his owner trained him to attack. Trained him well, too. Malcolm's leg is killing him and he can hear the dog pacing the next aisle over growling and barking at every sound or movement.

He keeps as still as he can as he listens to JT call Gil to explain what's happened. To request animal control and an ambulance. From what he can make out from JT's end of the conversation, Gil and Dani have already apprehended their killer. All that's left to do is catch the dog and then Malcolm can get the medical attention that he needs.

"How bad is it, bro?" JT asks after he finishes the call.

"Scale of one to ten?" Malcolm asks through gritted teeth. "Fourteen."

JT grunts in sympathy but there's not much he can do to help or support Malcolm from where he is. "How bad's the bleeding? You okay to wait for help or should you be applying pressure?"

Malcolm scrunches up his nose, not that JT can see that. Mostly, he doesn't want to move; it hurts less when he keeps still. But there's also a part of him that's afraid to look. Afraid to see how mangled his leg is. But he knows JT is right and he needs to assess the injury and make sure he's not in danger of bleeding to death while he waits.

He pushes up on his elbows and twists his upper body to look back at his leg. It's too dark to make out much, so he grabs his phone and taps on the flashlight, aiming it over his shoulder as he looks down to his leg once more.

It's…not good.

Even with his shredded pants in the way, he can see that he's missing a substantial chunk of skin and he can only pray that the muscles beneath were spared. Besides that, there's blood. A lot of blood. And he's pretty sure he should wrap it up to slow the blood loss, but frankly, he doesn't want to touch it and it won't take long for Animal Control to get there. Not when an injury has been called in.

"It's, uh." Malcolm takes a deep breath around the minor light-headedness he's suddenly feeling. "It's fine."

He shuts his phone off and tucks it away then drops his head back to his arm. He even makes sure to keep answering JT's inane questions that Malcolm understands are meant to keep him from drifting off as the blood loss and fading adrenaline leave him feeling a little drowsy.

By the time animal control safely contains the dog and Malcolm is very carefully removed from his perch atop the smashed up cars, though, he's ready to let the painkillers that the paramedics pump into him pull him under.

_It just had to be a junkyard,_ Malcolm thinks to himself, again, as he drifts off into a restless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the beta, Kate!!


End file.
